Auld Lang Squeak
by EnchantedApril
Summary: House, Cameron and Steve McQueen spend New Year's Eve together... Not particularly fluffy... COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

There was such good response to "The Sitter" that I couldn't resist dashing this off last night. I hope that everyone enjoys it... comments and criticism are always welcome. HAPPY NEW YEAR!

**Auld Lang Squeak**

_a tiny-little-sequel to 'The Sitter'_

It was December 31st, eight o'clock at night, and a dark-haired woman was tucked into the corner of her sofa with music playing in the background, a book balanced on her raised knees, and a bowl of popcorn beside her. Another banner New Year's Eve for Allison Cameron.

Princeton-Plainsboro was having a party, of course, and Foreman had invited her to join him and his friends. Chase had almost done the same, but she had seen the uncertainty in his eyes and encouraged it with the flat look in hers. He'd ended up asking her for a patient's file instead. House hadn't done anything other than grunt in her general direction on the way out of the office on Friday...not that she'd expected anything more.

She supposed that most people would have been terribly depressed to be spending the night alone, but truthfully, she tried not to think about it. She'd hated New Year's for as long as she could remember. It was, to her, a night set aside for the sole purpose of getting drunk and screaming. Not exactly something she had ever needed more of in her life.

There had been one New Year's where she'd broken her self-imposed exile. It had been spent in a hospital with sparkling juice a substitute for champagne, and a count-down at nine instead of midnight because her husband had been too tired to stay awake any longer. The next year, she'd been back to her routine of isolation, denial and bed by eleven.

When the phone rang at quarter past eight, Cameron actually jumped a little, muscles tensing at the unexpected noise. She reached out and plucked the phone from the coffee table.

"Hello?" she said uncertainly, wondering if it was a wrong number.

"Steve's escaped."

Cameron blinked and shook her head slightly. "What?" she asked, although she'd heard perfectly well.

"Steve. You remember? Short, furry, slightly more whiskers than me? You had him eating out of your hand during the O.C. two weeks ago? He's gone AWOL."

As surprised as she was by House's announcement, she still quickly gathered herself together. "How? When?"

"About half an hour ago, and does it really matter how?" Which obviously meant that he'd either left the cage open or let him slip away during playtime.

Cradling the phone loosely in her hand, Cameron swept a stray hair out of her eyes. "If you leave some food out and put his cage on the floor, I'm sure he'll come back. He's pretty tame now." It was funny how Steve's current escape didn't strike the same fear into her heart that his first had. Maybe because it wasn't happening to her.

"You'd just leave him to wander the place all night?" House asked. "He could chew his way through three pairs of sneakers by the time he decides to wander back to his cage."

"Well I'm not sure what else--"

"Come over."

"What?"

"You really need to get your hearing checked," House said, but rather than sounding testy, his sarcastic tone was tinged with barely discernable humor. "I said that you need to come over."

"House…" Cameron's voice trailed off. "I don't think--"

"He likes you. Plus, you're much better at getting down on your hands and knees than I am."

The double entendre was impossible to miss and Cameron's face twitched into an exasperated pout.

"Cripple, remember?" House interjected before she could make her own retort.

Cameron sighed and it was obvious to both of them that she was going to give in.

"Fine. I'll come over."

"Good," he replied, and hung up without any sort of traditional good-bye.

With another sigh rising from her chest, Cameron uncurled her legs and pushed herself off the sofa. Strangely, she didn't feel as inconvenienced as she knew she should have felt. There was even the hint of a smile in the curve of her lips. Lights off. Music off. Coat and shoes on. Door locked. She was down at her car in under five minutes and driving towards the semi-familiar townhouse.

There was a lot of traffic on the roads with people driving to and from various parties, bars and restaurants, but so far it appeared that everyone was still sober. No weaving vehicles, and no accidents. Cameron took a short-cut through the Princeton campus and arrived at House's place just as the clock flashed to eight forty-five.

It was bitterly cold out, and a harsh wind rattled at the bare branches overhead. Cameron jogged from her car up the steps to House's front door. She had her hand raised to ring the bell, but was bathed in light before she got the chance.

"Peg off any drunks on your way over?" House asked by way of greeting.

"Nope. Too early, I think."

House walked into the living room and left her to close the door after herself.

"Ah. Maybe you'll have better luck when you head home."

She nodded as she shrugged out of her coat. "Maybe."

The television was on, tuned to one of the live on-screen parties. It looked like New York, with people bundled up. Huddled masses yearning to breathe free, indeed. On the end table stood an open bottle of scotch and a half-full glass, and on the piano was a slowly-smoldering cigar. Cameron didn't know why, but she felt oddly at peace.

"So," she said, not wanting to dwell for too long on her confusing and fruitless feelings, "was he in his cage or what?"

"Not exactly," House replied, dropping down onto the soft leather sofa.

"Well then what exactly? Where should I be looking?"

"He was out, watching television, and some whiny chick-rocker came on and her voice spooked him into running."

Cameron rolled her eyes but figured that was as much of an explanation as she was going to get. "What direction? Didn't you see?" She had dropped to her knees and was peering under the leather chair and entertainment unit.

"Eh, he may have headed for the kitchen," House said. "You know, as appealing as it is to look at your perfect little ass in the air like that, you don't have to get right to work. Take a load off. Want a drink?" All the words were said so fluidly, so casually, that they might have been sentences he'd spoken to her a hundred times before.

Perching back on her heels, Cameron swung her hair over her shoulder and met House's gaze, ignoring the heat rising to her cheeks. "I probably shouldn't," she said after a few moments of awkward silence. "I mean--"

"I do have non-alcoholic beverages as well," House said dryly, knowing she was thinking about drug interactions.

"Oh. Well, fine. Sure," she said, feeling a surge of confidence from somewhere as House levered himself to his feet.

She followed him into his kitchen and leaned against the counter.

The contents of the fridge door clinked together musically as House yanked it open. "Coke? That's safe. The juice, probably not. I think Wilson brought it over when I had a cold last winter."

"Is that non-alcoholic champagne?" Cameron asked, her shoulder bumping House's as refrigerated air cooled her cheeks.

"Yeah. Looks like it," House said without preamble, grabbing the bottle and pulling it out.

Cameron didn't ask him why he had it, but she did risk a tiny smile while he was occupied with pulling off the foil and making a show of popping the cork.

He poured two glasses of the mock-champagne and gave one of them--and the bottle--to Cameron, while he carried one back to the living room and sat down. Cameron followed him, fingers lightly gripping the cool glass. As New Year's Eves went, this one was ranking high on the strange scale.

"I thought you wanted me to find Steve for you," she said as she sat down on the opposite end of the sofa.

"And I'm sure you will. He'll sense you here and come running right over. I'm sure he knows a good thing when he sees it."

"Oh, so now I'm a good thing?" she said archly.

"Most rats would certainly think so. You spoil Steve."

"Me? You're the one who bought him a giant rat ball to run in, for Christmas."

"He needed his exercise. And who was it who brought over a bag of popcorn and insisted that it was all for him?"

"He likes popcorn."

"Exactly. And he'll probably smell you, assume you have more food for him, and forget all about his bid for freedom."

Cameron rolled her eyes but tucked her feet up under herself, still surprised to feel almost comfortable in House's company. They'd spent a total of two evenings together since the truck rally, both under the guise of Steve's well-being, but both times she'd felt slightly on edge the entire time. This time was different. She felt at ease.

"Well he did just wander back last time," she said, and then pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes widening.

"Last time?" House said, one eyebrow lifting. "Are you telling me that you've lost my rat before?"

"Misplaced," Cameron corrected and then followed up with an indignant, "Hey! You're the one who was using twist-ties to secure his cage!" The smile really undercut the fierce defense she was trying to mount.

"I wondered where those plastic clips came from," House said, taking a sip from his glass and narrowing his eyes to piercing blue slits.

Cameron fidgeted for a moment under his scrutiny, but then took a drink herself and said, "Let's just leave the past in the past. You're the one who lost him this time."

"Misplaced," House said with a teasing sneer.

"Just act casual. I think he's like a watched pot. He'll come when we least expect it."

House reached over to the center cushion and grabbed the remote. "Well he'd better hurry up or he'll miss the ball dropping, not to mention another half-dozen crappy bands."

A slightly morose sounding chuckle echoed up from Cameron's chest. "If you don't like it, why do you have it on?"

"Tradition," he replied quickly. "I'm sure you have a few of those. Obviously partying isn't one of them or you would have taken Foreman up on his offer."

She bought herself some time by taking another drink. "Yeah. I'm not much for celebrating."

"Why not? Brand new year, full of possibilities. Just the kind of thing a bright-eyed optimist like yourself drools over."

Cameron turned and looked at him sharply. "That's how you see me? What you think of me?"

House's expression switched from sarcastic to serious in a heartbeat. "No," he said honestly. "Not really."

Her dark head bowed slightly. "Well at least you know me a little bit then."

"Yeah."

They fell silent and House turned up the sound on the television. From New York to Los Angeles and back again, the broadcasters kept up the snappy patter and typical exchanges. It was the same every year. The clock ticked around from ten to eleven and Cameron was on her third glass of fake champagne while House had switched back to scotch.

Somewhere around ten-thirty, things had become comfortable again, but it wasn't due to conversation. It was more the lack of it that put them both at ease. They didn't have to say anything and they really didn't want to. It was enough to just be sitting there together instead of separated by a partying town and solitude.

It was eleven thirty-five when Steve finally made an appearance, dashing across the floor, up the back of the sofa and directly onto Cameron's shoulder. He sat there looking very self-satisfied while Cameron gave a little cheer and House merely looked smug.

"What a good boy," Cameron crooned, knowing full-well that House would tease her for it later. She patted Steve's back and scratched behind his tiny ears.

"Told you he wouldn't let a good thing pass him by," House said.

"Yeah, I guess he's pretty smart that way," Cameron said lightly, glancing quickly at House before turning her attention back to the rat. It really wasn't wise to make such thinly veiled remarks, and she knew it, but he was the one who had left himself open.

Steve showed little interest in going back inside his cage, but Cameron walked over to it and started to lower him to the door.

"Let him stay out," House said around a swallow of scotch.

"You want him on you?" Cameron asked.

"Looks better on you."

"I should probably get going," she demurred.

"You've stayed this long," House said. "You really leaving just before the grand finale?"

It was as close to an invitation as she was ever likely to get. She moved back to the sofa and sat down again, letting Steve crawl under her hair once more.

"Okay. I guess it would be stupid to leave now."

"Yeah. Much better chance of hitting a drunk if you wait until after midnight when they start kicking them out of the bars," House said, leaning over to refill her glass.

He poured himself a glass of the champagne as well and pushed the scotch aside.

"Not long now," Cameron said unnecessarily, as the clock at the corner of the television screen flashed eleven-fifty.

"Nope," House replied, taking a long drink as if he was suddenly wondering what the hell he was doing. The non-alcoholic champagne lacked the punch of his scotch.

Cameron scooted forward to the edge of the cushion as the time ticked closer to midnight. She was actually allowing herself to feel slightly excited about it. She glanced back at House and saw him looking at her with a touch of amusement in his eyes. She shrugged her one Steve-free shoulder and turned her attention back to the television.

Eleven fifty-nine, and then there were only seconds to midnight. Thousands of people started counting backwards and Cameron found herself doing the same under her breath. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

"Happy New Year, Cameron."

The words weren't shouted but they didn't need to be. She looked over her shoulder at him, catching the slightly softer look in his eyes. Leaned back as he leaned forward, she offered up a crooked and tentative smile.

"Happy New Year, House," she replied, clinking her glass to his and taking a sip.

They looked at each other, eyes locked over crystal rims.

"And Happy New Year, Steve," Cameron said, breaking the sudden tension and tapping the rat on the nose with her index finger.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll have a very good year," House said, reaching out to give Steve a little pat himself.

"You think so?"

"Definitely. Asked the Magic-8-Ball and everything. Guaranteed a good year for a change."

"Then I guess it will be," Cameron replied, and the sensation in her chest was prodding her to believe.


	2. Chapter 2

You have all turned me into an enormous SAP! Keep in mind that if I do continue with this little series, I may or may not pretend that this epilogue never took place because I do think it's a bit early in the relationship... but, I just couldn't resist. Enjoy, and let me know if it meets with your romantic approval ;)

** Epilogue**

The ball had dropped, the on-screen revelry was starting to wrap up and Cameron knew that with every minute she remained, she risked out-staying her welcome. She shifted uncertainly on the sofa, buttery leather making soft noises each time she moved. Steve crawled from her shoulder to her chest and she noticed that House watched his progress with interest. Cameron took Steve's actions as a good excuse to take her leave.

Gently, she plucked the furry creature from his newly discovered pillow. "Time for little rats to be in bed," she murmured to him, following it with, "I should really get going," to House.

His expression was unreadable, and she hoped that hers was as well, but she knew better. Her eyes always gave everything away. House gave a sharp nod and stood up, taking Steve from her hands as he limped past her towards the piano. She would have been happy to return the animal to its cage and House's perfunctory actions set a sinking feeling in her stomach, as if she had made some faux pas she was unaware of. Her sigh was soundless and she stood up and headed to the door.

The sound of House's three-beat step followed close behind and he reached around her and grabbed her coat before she could say anything. She stood there dumbly as he held it open.

"Well?" he finally said tersely, his eyes betraying his own insecurity.

Cameron turned and slipped her arms into the sleeves, feeling the press of House's large hands through wool. He settled the coat on her shoulders, letting his palms rest there for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary and then removing them quickly, an imagined heat searing his skin.

"I guess I'll see you Monday," Cameron said.

"Yeah. Monday."

"Take care of Steve. It's supposed to snow tonight and I don't feel like driving through drifts just to lure him back to his cage."

"Right. Thanks for tonight." House was uncharacteristically awkward as he stood there, concentrating more on the floor and the wall than her face. 

It reminded Cameron of another time they had stood in similar positions. She could still feel the burn in her cheeks when he'd refused her outstretched hand. She didn't think he'd refuse it this time, but it had been too nice a night and she didn't want to tempt fate.

"I had a good night. I suppose I should thank Steve for escaping."

House's mouth pursed into an assortment of slightly strange configurations. "Yeah. I probably could have held him a little tighter," he said, his eyes finally meeting hers and holding.

"Then thank you," Cameron replied softly as they stood there with probably a hundred unspoken words passing between them in a look.

The sound of the heavy brass lock being thrown back was the next sound in the air, and House pulled the door open and just as quickly shut it. The space between them closed before Cameron had a chance to blink and then House's mouth was pressed against hers.

His lips were dry and firm but hers were soft, molding to the unyielding pressure. Without thinking, her hand stretched out and rested on his waist, but he only touched her with his mouth. The kiss was brief but there was the touch of tongues and the sharing of scotch and cigar and fruity champagne. Cameron wanted to lean in but she didn't let herself, instead breaking the kiss and staring up at House's clear blue eyes. Hot breath brushed across her face before he straightened up, a flash of tongue catching the last bit of her taste from his lips.

"New Year's Eve tradition," he cited as if his heart wasn't beating faster and his knuckles weren't white around his cane.

"Good tradition," Cameron said, knowing that to say anything else would be a mistake. Some things couldn't be discussed without being ruined.

"Monday," House said, opening the door.

"Right. I'll be there," she stepped outside and started down the stairs, not giving into her desire to turn around and see him standing there watching her.

"Cameron!"

She paused in the middle of the sidewalk and looked back over her shoulder.

"Drive safe," he said. "Lots of crazies on the road tonight."

"Lots of crazies right here," she retorted lightly.

"Ha," he said, and even in the dim light from the street lamps, she could tell he was almost smiling.

She unlocked her car and got in without saying anything else, but this time, as she drove away she looked into the rear-view mirror. House was still standing in the doorway and she watched him with one eye until she reached the end of the street and turned the corner. In her mind, she could still see him standing there even when she pulled onto her own street.


End file.
